Quirks
by SpiritBearr
Summary: Tarsus was many years ago. Sometimes that doesn't matter. Bones wonders why he didn't see it before. Jim just wants to be left alone.


**A/N**- **My updates may very well be sporadic, as I have recently lost my internets and the only place I can log on to update is Barnes and Noble or McDonalds, both of which are hour-drives for me; as soon as I get my internet back up and running in a couple weeks, The Trouble with Trejjions shall be updated it's final few chapters. Please bear with me, and I hope you can enjoy what I offer you in the interim!**

**Title: Quirks**

**Summary: Sometimes, nightmares don't fade with time. And sometimes even friends don't see what's right in front of them. Bones wants to help. Jim just wants to be left alone. **

**Warnings: Language, mostly. I try to say in the spirit of TOS and keep the cursing to a minimum, but in this particular case it feels appropriate. **

**Rating: T**

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When he thinks about it, it makes sense.

Jim forgets to eat.

It was never anything he spent a long period of time musing on; after all, Jim's the _captain_. He gets busy, stressed, emotional, tired….and he just forgets.

Bones-and when did he start thinking of _himself_ as 'Bones'?- will fuss and growl and remind him, and it never gets as bad as _collapsing_ or anything, he never even gets what could be considered 'underweight'. And he will laugh, and acquiesce to being feed and resting a while, assuming that nothing pressing is occurring.

And then, sometimes, Jim will _eat_. When bored, or stressed, mostly; nothing unusual. Lots of people are bored eaters; lots of people eat when under stress. Better then drinking too much, or turning to drugs. But Jim just plain likes food. Simple as that, and most often, it's _bad for you_ food. Fatty, filling, drenched in additives and artery-clogging grease, or sweet and tooth trotting . Jim's a meat-and-potatoes man.

And he _does_, sometimes, get what could be considered _overweight_. Not drastically, not by much, but enough to get a little paunch on him from time to time, to get _just_ heavier then Bones would like to see him. And again, this was never a big _deal_- Jim would snarl, and growl, and whine and complain when put on a diet, but he would loose the weight and all would resume normal course.

And then, after the thing with the players, with Kodos, Bones started _noticing_.

He started noticing just _how drastically_ Jim's weight would slingshot from one end of the scale to the other. _How often_ he forgot to eat. No, Jim never collapses, but he _has _gotten dizzy spells from a lack of food, and one day when Bones asks and realizes Jim hasn't eaten in seventy two hours and doesn't find that _odd_ in any way, and hasn't even spared it a _thought_ until he paled and reeled in the hallway outside of his quarters that night, he realizes exactly what is going on with Jim Kirk.

Tarsus left it's scars.

He knew that; he _saw_ it. But there are more subtle marks, more subtle wounds that Jim doesn't show even Bones.

Jim forgets to eat because he's used to being hungry.

Jim eats too much because he's used to not having enough to eat. Possibly to having to fight for what there _is_.

It was only a year, he thinks, only a year and it's _still_ affecting him?

But that, as Spock would say (and damn the green-blooded hobgoblin for invading his thought processes, anyway) is utterly _illogical_. Sometimes the smallest things will affect people for _years_, and Tarsus was not _the smallest thing_.

He brings it up, cautiously, one day, when they're eating alone in his office, jokingly comments that _it's_ _not going anywhere, Jim_, and watches his Captain freeze, watches the dark, horrible thing that he almost never sees surface just for one moment, darkening glowing golden hazel to nearly-black-green. It's too soon, he thinks, too soon after Kodos reappeared, he shouldn't have spoken, stuck his foot right in his _damn _mouth, and Jim will slam shut like a good-old-fashioned hinged door.

"I know." Is all Jim says, but it's too late to laugh off, Bones has seen and Jim knows he's seen, and like a wolf caught in a trap, there is some part of him that is snarling an open-mouthed, fanged warning.

But Bones has never been one to let the wolf suffer, even when it's threatening to take his hand off.

"It's not healthy, you know," He tries, after a moment, and this time he _hears_ the growl, audible, low in the base of Jim's chest.

"_Bones_." He says, not sure what McCoy is trying to do but sure he won't like it. "Back off."

"What?" He keeps his voice light, his tone light, _easy Jim, it's just me, it's just ol' Bones, ol' McCoy, easy_. "You bounce like a ball, Jim, it's wearing on your body when you keep loosing and gaining weight as quickly as you do."

"I'm healthy as I can be expected to be out here, you've said it yourself. I'm _fine_." Yep, there's the door, _wham_, right in his face.

"You are _not _fine." So much for casual. Jim's eyes lift, still dark-green and predatory, and Bones-no, McCoy now, right now he's _McCoy _because there is no trace of love or affection in that savage green stare, and when Jim looks at him like _that_ Bones is shoved in a little corner and ignored-can't stand that he is the one that brought that look out from where it hibernates.

"No?" Laughing, mocking, drawl, but there is no humor in it. It is cold, and broken, like glass, like space. Empty, frozen. "McCoy, don't do this."

"_Jim_, don't do this." To yourself, to me, to _anyone_. "You have a problem." And hah! He never thought, _never thought_, he'd say those words to his captain, his friend, his _brother_, damn it, Jim is his _brother_ and looking at him so betrayed, so wounded.

"Has it affected my ability to do my j-"

"I don't_ care_ if it's affected your ability to do jack shit!" So much for casual indeed. He isn't aware he hit the table until his food jumps.

"Then why are you _digging at it_?" Jim is not on his feet, not yet. He wants to be, though. "It's _my business_, Leonard, and if it's not affecting my competency as a captain then it's _none of yours_."

He can count on one hand the number of times he has been 'Leonard' to Jim. 'McCoy' or 'Doctor' is what he is when Jim is angry, or when they are being professional. 'Bones' is what he is the rest of the time, all the rest of the time, he's only ever 'Leonard' when he's being introduced or when they're joking or, once, when Jim's father died after Jim had been Captain two years and Jim had gotten drunk, like, falling-down-seeing double _drunk_, and Leonard had been uttered then, 'Bones', first, then, 'Bones_' _again, then _Leonard_ before he'd finally broken, silent sobs heaving his powerful shoulders and legs drawn up to his chest. And not once, _not once,_ had he made a sound.

It had been eerie. Seeing someone like Jim so vulnerable, knowing he was _allowed_ to see it, was intimidating as hell and flattering as hell, and he'd gripped the back of Jim's neck and Jim had clung to him like a piece of float some in ragging waters, clung to him and sobbed himself to sleep.

And never made a sound.

Jim cried silently, had _learned_ to cry silently. There was something inherently _wrong_ about that.

Maybe Tarsus had done that, too. Maybe not.

The only other thing he has ever been called is 'Lenkam', and that was by Spock, once, when he was hurt, so badly hurt, and dying, and Spock's voice had floated into his mind and called him _Lenkam_, 'dear Leonard', and Jim had learned of it later, and now, ever once in a while, when they are in a situation that is so bad they think they may not escape, or when Jim is teasing him, one or the other will use the name.

Spock also calls Jim t'hy'la, which means 'brother' among other things, and sometimes Leonard, too. But only when they might die, or when someone is hurting so badly, and he wishes he could use it without feeling like it's wrong on his tongue, in his mind.

But now he is being called Leonard again, and there is not love in Jim's eyes. It's pain and hate, pure and simple, hate for _causing_ the pain, and it's all he can do not to flinch in the face of it.

"You're my friend, Jim-my brother." He says softly, not rising to the anger, instead going the other route. It works- Jim softens, looses steam. He slumps back into the chair.

"It's not a big deal, Bones." He says, and he is _Bones_ again, just like that, so fast. Jim's way of apologizing.

"I think it is." He says.

"I'm managing it-"

"No, Jim, _I_ am." He snaps, and Jim's eyes lift to him, _dance_ up to him, almost back to golden-hazel again.

"That's how I'm managing it." He says softly, _I love you, Bones, I need you, Bones, but fuck, stop __**poking the wound**_**. **

He can't think of what to say to it. Jim smiles, slightly, in the wry way he has, and there is honest humor in it. "What, you think CMO is just your knew nickname, or something? C'mon, Bones." Then, before he can speak, "Besides. I'd-you know I'd-" Awkward shrug, and swear to goodness, there is something so little-boy-uncomfortable in his big, strong Captain right now Bones-because now he _is_ Bones again-wants to laugh. "If it ever _was_ a problem. You know."

"Jim, it's an _eating disorder_." He says, very gently, knowing he can push now. "Maybe it's slight, but it _is_."

Jim looks down at the desk, runs his hand over it. "It's not mental, Bones. It's not like I think, _I shouldn't eat_. I'm not _that_ messed up. It's physical. My body just doesn't send off the same alarm bells when I get hungry sometimes, or I unconsciously ignore them. I don't _mean_ to do it."

"I know that, Jim. It's the other half I'm worried about."

"I don't gorge and I never have." Sharp, bitten off words, defiance and anger in his eyes. "I know some people do, but it never affected me that way."

"You gobble your food like it's going to run off your plate. It takes a conscious effort for you _not_ to, Jim, I know how to look for the tells." He says. It's true. Using his napkin often, the way he holds his fork, putting utensils down between every bit, drinking often, cutting everything when it doesn't need to be cut; alone, just odd quirks. Together, signs of a very real problem.

"I _like to eat_." He growls, and the danger is in his eyes again. "Stop making me sound crazy, McCoy, or go make it official."

Fucker. Stubborn, bull-headed, bratty, arrogant, challenging, infuriating, pain-in-the-ass-

"_Stop that." _He strikes the table again. His time, _Jim_ jumps. "I _care_ about you, Jim, I'm not trying to say you're unfit or crazy. I'm _worried_."

"You worry too much."

"With you, there's no such thing."

Pause, and suddenly he's laughing, quietly. "That's true, I suppose." He says at last, putting his head in his hands. "So what are you planning to do with me, Doctor?"

Playful, almost, but still a very pointed use of his title. He wants to be Bones. He wants to hear _Bones_ come from his friend's throat, because right now, he can't stop being him.

"Nothing." He says gently, reaching out. Physical contact. Jim craves it, needs it, and now leans into it, like a dog. Or a wolf. "Nothing at all, Jim. I just wanted to be sure _you_ knew. If you know, you can start to control it. If you know, you can make my life easier. I also wanted you to know _I_ know, so you can come to me. For anything. Jim, you don't have to be embarrassed. I'd be more concerned if you walked away from that without so much as a scratch."

Bitter, soft laughter floats up again. He removes his hand, gathers his tray, and as he moves to dispose of it, Jim's voice drifts to him again.

"….Hurts a hell of a lot more then a scratch, Bones."

He stops, smiles, though it's soft and sad and doesn't reach his eyes. "I know." He says. "But I'm a doctor, remember?"

He turns, mets Jim's eyes, and they are golden-hazel and he is _Bones_ and when they close, Jim is Jim again, needing his big brother but OK. Will be OK.

"No," He says softly, "you're a healer." And Bones takes a seat again, and puts his hand on Jim's head, and for the second time in his life James T. Kirk breaks in front of Leonard H. McCoy.

He is not silent.


End file.
